Jealousy Sees the Sharpest
by civillove
Summary: for it is love and hate at the same time  prompt: Five times Eames observes Arthur fussing over Ariadne when she's glum, a bit sick, etc. Eames is turning green with jealousy and one time Arthur notices.


Title: Jealousy Sees the Sharpest (for it is love and hate at the same time)  
Rating: Light R  
Word Count: 6,379  
Pairing: Arthur/Ariadne & Eames/Arthur  
Prompt: Five times Eames observes Arthur fussing over Ariadne when she's glum, a bit sick, etc. Eames is turning green with jealousy and one time Arthur notices.  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything…still own nothing -_-

Oh and this is the very _first_ fic I am writing pertaining Eames/Arthur. I hope it's okay :) I really hope I did your prompt justice Shika 3

**On1e**.

When Ariadne tried to mount the table in the bar, knocking several beer bottles crashing to the floor…Arthur knew it was time to go. He had never seen her this drunk before—well maybe that one time on Eames' birthday when he kept feeding her shots while playing a game of darts. He rolled his eyes as the memory clouded his head like cigar smoke: Eames was so goddamn childish sometimes.

"Alright, think you've had enough." He managed to hook his arm around her waist and hoist her down off the bar stool before she got enough leverage to climb onto the table.

Eames smirked and looked at the bar keep, leaving a twenty on the table for the damage drunk Hurricane Ariadne left in her wake.

"My apologies." He drawled out, accent thicker from the amount of scotch he'd just consumed.

"Eames, would you help me out here?" Arthur seemed panicked, which was hilarious to hear from someone who was so organized and precise. Eames was sure Arthur even knew the circumference of the stick that was shoved up his ass.

Eames grabbed Ariadne's arm and tried and failed to straighten her to walk to get to the car. Arthur just sighed and picked her up in his arms after draping his coat around her shoulders. He carried her out of the bar, Eames following his footsteps.

Eames could tell Arthur was pissed just for the fact that he wouldn't look at him while standing to wait for the walk signal to cross the street.

"You're…pissed. And I can't imagine why. Wasn't my fault this time, mind you." If Eames reminded Arthur of his drunken and disorderly birthday party one more time… "She was on her own this time, feeding her gullet with shots. I could barely keep up with the crazed bird."

The sound of amusement and awe in Eames' voice made Arthur grind his teeth together. "You know how much work she's going to have tomorrow right? Our job is in two days, _two_ days Mr. Eames."

He carried her across the street and Eames followed, sighing. "Why always so formal, Arthur?" He teased. "Been through so much together, I insist you call me Eames."

Eames was pretty sure Arthur muttered between something along the lines of 'fucker' or 'asshole'.

"Colorful words for a dull boy."

He glared at him as they got the car. All Eames did was grin. "Last time someone looked at me with that much intensity Arthur, I got shagged."

Eames unlocked the car and opened the door for Arthur to slide Ariadne in the car. "In your dreams _Mr_. Eames."

Eames chuckled. "Isn't that what we do for a living, darling?"

Before Arthur could give him another colorful response Ariadne stirred, moaning softly and holding her stomach.

"Bleeding Christ, if she's going to hurl get her _out_ of my car."

Arthur waved him off as Ariadne said his name. He leaned closer to her and a small pout covered her mouth. "I don't feel good."

"Hate to inform you, but that's what happens when you try to become intimate with a tequila bottle, love."

Arthur sighed and then frowned, running a hand through her hair. "I know. I'm going to take you home, okay?"

She nodded softly and leaned over, throwing herself on Arthur's chest. She sniffled and her words slung together and fell out of her mouth in a rush. "Stay back here with me. Comfy point man."

Eames rolled his eyes. "Now I feel sick."

Arthur shoved his thigh to get him to move so he could close the door. Eames smirked. "If you wanted to touch me Arthur, all you had to do was—" The door closed before he could finish his sentence and he scoffed. "Rude."

He got in the front seat of the car and started the engine and looked through the review mirror, making sure there was no one behind him before he pulled out of the spot. He bit his tongue as he watched Arthur lean down and place a chaste kiss on Ariadne's forehead and rub her arm as she snored loudly on his chest.

Eames ignored the irritation that flicked around his face as he pulled the car out. _Jealous of the point man's tender gestures, my ass._

**Tw2o**.

"You didn't have to do all this, Ariadne. All this food and everything in such short notice."

Ariadne smiled at Arthur. "Are you just saying this because my apartment is tiny and you still can't figure out how we'll all fit in here to eat dinner?"

He smiled slowly. "I am interested to see how you fit everyone at your kitchen table."

She chuckled and cut up some onions for the chili. "Well, that's the beauty of it. I borrowed another table from Joe's Diner down the street so I can connect the two together—"

"And make a big long table." He nodded, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms over his perfectly pressed shirt and navy blue vest.

She grinned at him as he caught on and he chuckled softly at her smile. It was the type of smile that lit up her whole face. "I just thought…it'd be something nice to do. We haven't seen Cobb or Yusuf in a long time…not to mention Saito and his billion dollar company. I had to wait an hour on hold to talk to him."

She looked at him and he pretended to give her a shocked face at the fact she had to wait an hour to talk to the very busy Saito and he turned to get glasses down out of the cabinet. She smiled softly and looked back at the task at hand. She cut up some tomatoes, carefully sliding the knife down and avoiding her fingers. "Not that I'm not happy us three decided to stick together. We all make a good team."

Arthur smiled and cleaned a spot off of one of the glasses. "Even when Eames gets you so drunk you can't think the next morning?"

She smiled. "Even then…he's more useful more times than not."

"I'm not so sure about that…"

"You just don't see him like I do." She brushed her hands off her apron and turned to look at him.

Arthur looked amused. "And how _don't_ I see him?"

"Well…I think past all the…cocky remarks and no matter how many times he asks me to have a 'snog' with him…or even the expensive suits and the fact that I detest his smoking in my apartment…I think he's rather sweet." She nodded and all Arthur could do was stare at her until a small amount of blush crept on her cheeks.

"I think the last alcoholic trip you had fused some of your brain cells together. You just confused the word 'sweet' with the word 'deplor—'" She gasped and put a hand over his mouth before he could finish.

"You do not think that about him!"

He grinned under her hand and wrapped his arm around her waist and grabbed the hand over his mouth as he picked her up in one fell swoop. She squealed as he lifted her in the air and started tickling her.

"A-Arthur, _stop_!"

He laughed and kept tickling her sides, teasing her in a feminine tone that she had _never_ heard from him before about her secret love for Eames.

0o0o0o

Eames had been two rooms over in the dining room, setting up the long table Ariadne had snagged from Joe's before he heard them. He wasn't quite sure what they were going on about but the only thing he could tell was that Ariadne and Arthur were laughing. He set the plates down on the table and moved closer, leaning against the doorframe and listening to the laughter flowing from the kitchen.

Something bubbled under his skin; sharp like pin pricks and hot like metal resting in fire. This was _ridiculous_ and highly unprofessional. Was he seriously jealous that Ariadne could make him laugh like that? How the hell did she convince him to take that giant stick out of ass every time he was around her? Eames clicked his tongue off the roof of his mouth. He was envious on how easygoing Arthur became around her…a laugh, a joke, tickling her or ruffling her hair. It made him roll his eyes and want to throw a plate across the room at the far wall.

What were they? Goddamn children?

He couldn't stop his legs before they started moving towards the kitchen. He leaned against the doorway and watched them.

"Arthur, if you're that interested in shagging her, skip the foreplay—for all our sakes, hmm?"

They stopped the moment they heard his voice, laughter dying in their throats. Ariadne was against the counter, Arthur leaning his chest into her back while his arms were wrapped around her waist. He slowly backed up from her and reached across the counter to gather the glasses, whispering in her ear and asking her if she wanted to take back that 'sweet Eames' comment. A smile swiped across her lips and Arthur went past Eames to go into the dining room.

He turned on his heel and followed Arthur, watching him set up glasses to the plates he'd set up minutes before.

"Seriously, if you want to have at it, don't let me stop you."

"Seriously, shut up." Arthur snapped, folding napkins next and placing silverware on them.

Eames' lips curled up the tiniest bit. "Do you…like her Arthur?"

Arthur shook his head. "And if I did what business would that be of yours?" He muttered.

Eames swallowed at the venom in his voice. Was he truly so angry over a few jokes between friends? They were friends weren't they? He tried not to let his words sting his pride—or his feelings. He was a smooth and provocative man, goddamnit. He could get any woman this very instant—even Ariadne, regardless of what the point man thought, and get her to moan his name over and over with tricks Arthur probably couldn't even calculate despite of how good the man was at math. He didn't need his fucking approval.

It was silent, a moment before Eames spoke up about this shining new discovery to throw in Arthur's face, when a yelp was heard from the kitchen.

Arthur reacted instantly; partly because of his job keeping him on point and quick and the other because it was Ariadne. Eames was in the doorway, halfway blocking the point man's exiting.

"She's an adult Arthur; she doesn't need you following her around like she's a bleedin' toddler." He sneered.

Arthur stared at him a long moment before he smirked at Eames, but the smirk wasn't lighthearted or even amused. It was border line irritated and angry. "Are you jealous or something?"

The tone in his voice told Eames everything; he wasn't serious. He was mocking him. He shoved past Eames. "Grow up." He spat, heading into the kitchen.

Eames pursed his lips, turning yet again and approaching the kitchen. He didn't need to go inside to know what was going on. Ariadne had cut her hand with one of the knives she was using to cut the meat for the chili. Arthur grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet and opened it up. He gently cleaned the cut before applying the antiseptic and bandage; saying little jokes to make her smile despite the pain.

Eames bit his tongue, nearly making it bleed, lusting over the way Arthur's hands moved over Ariadne's pale, white skin. He sighed and rolled his eyes, going to the fridge to get a beer. This was getting ridiculous.

**Thr3ee**

"And…is there a reason I'm the only one in your apartment right now?"

Arthur looked at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Eames sighed, getting up from the kitchen table and going to rummage through the point man's fridge.

"Ariadne, I'm talking about our doe-eyed girl architect. Is she teaching you to be a dickhead to guests or something along those lines? Every time I come over here, when I was invited by the way, you always seem to have your knickers in a twist."

Arthur sighed. "I just want to get down to business—and get out of my fringe."

Eames chuckled and popped open a beer, sitting down on the couch and stretching his legs out to put his feet up on the table. Before the heels of his feet hit the table Arthur smacked his shins rather roughly, pushing them aside.

"That's a thousand dollar table. Walnut wood and circular—"

"Looks like a footrest." Eames interrupted. "A bloody expensive one, but a footrest nonetheless." He grinned cheekily at him and Arthur scoffed, leaning back into the couch with an eye roll.

"Don't you have any decency whatsoever?"

Eames pointedly ignored the question. "What time is Ariadne gracing us with her presence?"

"She's not," He leaned up. "She's studying with a group of college friends tonight, big test on architectural design on Tuesday so I told her to forget coming, we could go on without her. Our newly acquired job isn't initiated until next week anyways."

"So it's just us then?"

Arthur looked at him a long moment. "…positive that's what I just said."

He opened the file and handed the photos of the mark to Eames, the glossy pages slipping from the point man's grasp and landing on the forger's lap. Eames licked his lower lip as he watched Arthur retract his hand almost purposely slow.

Before Arthur could get down to business on the mark and why a normal forging of his wife wouldn't work there was a frantic knock at his door.

Eames frowned. "I thought you weren't expecting anyone." Did he sound disappointed? Bleeding _Christ_. What the hell was up with his personality disorders these past few weeks?

Arthur looked at him, dumped the file on his lap and stood. "I wasn't."

He slowly went to the door and as Eames watched him he could tell he was considering whether or not to grab his gun before he opened his door. The frantic knock started up again, louder than the last.

Arthur sighed, decided not to pick up the gun, seeing as how it might have been just a disgruntled neighbor with some issue or complaint and opened the door.

"Ariadne…"

Eames cocked his head to the side, looking past the point man at their girl…but what he saw made his stomach turn.

Ariadne's body was shivering. Even Eames could see that and he was a good two feet away. She was hunched over a little, her arms around her fragile frame. Her hair was mussed up, either from running or from putting her hands through it too many times. Her makeup was big splotches all over her face—black and blue smeared in places it didn't belong. That's when Eames saw the blood. The small, jagged, cut right above her left eyebrow. He was surprised the blood hadn't gotten in her eye.

"I didn't—" She stopped and started again, tears in her eyes. Eames stood from the couch and slowly walked towards her. "I know it's late. Arthur, I'm s-sorry. I didn't…I didn't want to go back to my apartment, even after—he left, I'm sure. It's been hours. I just…I couldn't."

Arthur just shook his head and gently, very gently Eames observed, put his hand on her arm and pulled her into his apartment. He closed the door and took her to the couch, sitting her down and kneeling in front of her. Eames sat next to her after gathering some paper towels from the kitchen. He had dampened them with warm water and was ready to start cleaning her cut. He didn't touch her yet though…she didn't look like she wanted or could handle too much touching. She looked tense even as Arthur kept his hands on her arms.

"What happened?" Arthur asked, voice low and hints of anger hanging on the end of some words. "Who did this to you?"

She shook her head and looked at her lap, her lower lip wobbling. Eames ran a careful hand through her hair, trying to be helpful—comforting, something. He hadn't realized how awful he was at comforting someone until it actually needed to be done.

Arthur however was a goddamn _genius_ at it. Of course. Eames wasn't sure why he was so surprised at that. Not that he'd ever admit this to him, but he was usually good at everything he tried. He knew when to touch her, when to let her talk, when to talk over her, when to…do that thing with his mouth that made a comforting "shh" noise and when to hold her until she stopped crying or shaking. He'd seen him do it before, after a dream went bad and projections tore her to pieces. She'd cried for hours in the warehouse and a patient Arthur held her as long as she needed. He didn't understand how he'd missed this close relationship that had developed between them after so much time—and why was he just recognizing it now?

"I was studying with my friends; you know the ones from class?" A Soft and pained voice brought Eames out of his rambling brain conversations.

Arthur just nodded, waiting for to continue, running a closed palm over her right knee. Eames sighed softly and started to gently clean her cut on her forehead. Wasn't too deep; wouldn't need stitches.

Her lip wobbled again and Eames' eyes flicked to Arthur's face. He definitely did _not_ like the way that made Arthur's face turn—into what? Pity? Compassion or sympathy? He turned his attention back to the cut, getting all the dried blood before he went into the kitchen to throw the rags away.

"And Josh was walking me home…and when I got there he just…he threw himself on me! I mean, I—he might have been a little drunk but I never, I don't like him and he just tried to—in my o-own apartment A-Arthur. Arthur."

Her voice was breaking and shuddering in between her words, it was difficult to understand her but, Eames thought it was the secret ever-so-special bond between them; Arthur seemed to know what she was saying.

Eames came back into the room. "Then what happened love?"

He shouldn't have felt so unconcerned. So he tried this instead. It was ridiculous that he had to _try_ and sound concerned in the first place. This was Ariadne—the bird had grown on him ever since the Inception job. Loved her even, as a good friend or little sister. It shouldn't have been a jump to feel compassion about some douche-nozzle throwing himself all over her. He should have felt more anger, more….sympathy, more _something_. But God—God fucking sakes he couldn't feel anything when Arthur leaned up and kissed her forehead. Envy was knock-knock-knocking on his door again. And he refused to fucking answer. Not now. Not _ever_.

She shook her head again, tears fully running down her cheeks like a dripping faucet. She let out a sob and then Eames felt it, a small break. He felt so _awful_ for her. No girl ever deserved to be scared like she was.

Arthur sat next to her on the couch and put an arm around her, trying to pull her into his chest but she wouldn't have it. She was trying to pull out of his grasp but Arthur wasn't letting her go—wasn't letting her pull away from him. Arthur knew she needed him, knew that fact even though she didn't. Knew she could have gone anywhere else, any other friend's house but she chose here and him to go to. Maybe their deep secret friendship was more than that…and that caused some momentary panic to swell up in Eames' belly.

"I turned to go and he grabbed me. I tripped," she touched her head, which wasn't bleeding anymore. "Hit my head off the doorjamb." She sniffled. "I just—I ran. I just want to wake up. I want this to be a dream and I w-want to wake up."

She let out another heart wrenching sob and let Arthur pull her into him. She cried into his chest, hand gripping his white cotton t-shirt. He wrapped his arms around her and Eames observed this like it was fucking foreign to him. Arthur wrapped his arms around her and then rested his lips on her hair and murmured nothings there; like "you're safe" and "you can stay here tonight"—like those would make some sort of difference. He then rocked her, for a few moments, before rubbing her back and saying soft "shhs" into her hair.

Eames sighed softly and sat next to him, Arthur watching his moves as he gently picked Ariadne's legs up to take off her shoes. He placed her legs over his and rubbed them in a comforting manner. He couldn't stomach being jealous right now—it wasn't right. He refused to be. Arthur was wrong about him. He had some goddamn decency.

**Fo4ur**

Eames dropped his pen and scowled in the general direction of Ariadne's desk for what had to be the fifth time in the last hour. How the hell did _giggling_ distract him from his task at hand?

He'd been working on the recent mark's mother for the past two hours; studying her history, her relationship with her son, the relationship with her husband, the mark, her mannerisms—anything that could give a key for Eames to portray her perfectly in the test run dream they were going to run on Friday.

It started out small, nothing that was really irritating. A small giggle coming from Ariadne's desk. He'd turned, looked to see what was so funny, realized it was nothing interesting and went back to work.

But it didn't stop there.

Arthur had made his way over to her desk and was _making_ her giggle like that. And to top it all off she was making him laugh now.

Eames gripped his pencil, trying to not let it bother him. When in fact it's driving him bonkers.

What the fuck was she saying to him that was so hilarious? Eames had known Arthur a long time, the man did not laugh. Okay, once and a while there would be a chuckle—maybe a sarcastic scoff with a small smile, but he never full out laughed. He swore Arthur didn't know how. The man had fun, don't get him wrong. He'd been there when Arthur got smashed at a few bar runs after a damn good job. But he wasn't a giggly drunk. He was—more serious if that was even possible. And sometimes he stumbled; it was funny to see a man so prim and proper as Arthur trip over himself out of a bar, running into old ladies with groceries.

Eames wasn't so sure why he was feeling envy and jealousy eat his insides like this: it was a laugh for Christ's sake. But the way Ariadne was making him laugh was driving him insane. He sighed and refused to go over there to see what the hell her secret was. How could she get him to laugh like that and he couldn't? He was goddamn hilarious. Eames had the perfect sense of humor, he ranged from a variety of sarcasm and original jokes. Not to mention he oozed charisma. If anyone could get Arthur to laugh like that—so carefree and fucking attractive like, it should have been him.

And yet, there he was, envying the naïve girl at the corner desk who was pulling her hair up and muttering to Arthur about something or another that Eames didn't give a fuck about and making him laugh. Again.

Jealousy was something Eames didn't encounter often and when he did, it came on tenfold. It was like Arthur's laugh—didn't happen a lot but when it did it filled the entire room. His heart clenched, hurting his entire body. His palms sweated and his head started to pound along with his beating heart. His limbs felt detached from his body. His stomach sank down to, what it felt like, past his legs. Queasiness and a sudden disgust for anything and everything were common. Alone and bitter. Bitter and alone. An unfamiliar feeling for Eames—seeing as how he could get into any women's panties with a slow smirk and a drawl of his accent.

He ran a hand over his face.

Jealousy sucked. And he knew the quick cure until it happened again.

"I'm taking a break."

Without waiting for Arthur's reply he grabbed his coat and walked out the door.

Jack Daniels would at least be glad to see him.

O0o0o0

Ariadne watched Eames storm out of the workspace, slamming the door behind him. She swallowed softly.

"Think we were too loud?"

Arthur shrugged and then looked back at her. He smiled softly. "He's just jealous."

She giggled at that, which made his smile grow. "Jealous over _what_ exactly?"

Arthur shrugged. "Who knows…maybe he's jealous over how much I make you laugh."

This time her laugh was so loud and huge that she bent at the waist with the force of it.

Arthur just smiled.

**Fi5ve**

"Get up, Ariadne." Arthur voiced; his tone void of emotion.

Ariadne panted on the ground, chest heaving to catch her breath. Eames watched quietly from the bar stool at his desk as she struggled to get up. Her hair stuck to her face as sweat poured from her forehead and behind her neck, soft droplets also beading on her breast bone above the thin tank top she wore. Her cheeks were flushed, bright red blotches on her pale cheeks.

"Get. Up."

Eames licked his lips, wondering if he was going to yank her up if she kept taking this breather. She managed to get up, her arms shaking with the effort of it.

Arthur looked at her. "Defend yourself, Ariadne. It's them or you. Do you want them to get the information out of you?"

She shook her head.

"Do you want them to hurt you or kill you?" He snapped.

She swallowed. "No." She answered meekly.

"Then _defend_ yourself."

He drew a knife from his jacket pocket and swung at her. Eames shifted in his seat as he watched Ariadne dodge successfully three times until her foot tripped over Arthurs, giving him the opportune moment to twist her arms behind her back and turn her around. He had his arms around her, her back into his front. He pushed the knife against her skin on her shoulder and she whimpered as he drew a small amount of blood.

He pushed her away and Eames inched to catch her as she almost plummeted onto the ground. She sniffled as he helped her stand upright, gently trying to assure her with a squeeze to the arm that this training session was almost over. That there was less than a minute left on the clock.

"Last chance, Ariadne." Arthur bellowed, causing the rafters to shudder in the ceiling roof. Either that or the dream was starting to fall apart.

She took her own knife that was on the floor from when she laid there panting and tried aiming it at Arthur, who swiftly knocked it from her hand. Eames tried to ignore her scream as Arthur stabbed her.

O0o0o0

He awoke to a gasping Ariadne. Regardless of it being a dream, he knew how much flesh wounds still _hurt_ upon waking up. She searched her body for the stab wound Arthur had given her only moments before but there wasn't one. Not that anyone was surprised.

He moved the needle from his arm as he watched the scene unfold before him. Arthur never worked anyone so hard on the team. It was obvious he wanted to train her, to make sure that in any situation she could get out of it, on a dream level or in real life. It was apparent that Arthur pushed her too hard; hurt her feelings as Ariadne sat up, pulling the needle from her arm, her eyes stinging with tears of bitter betrayal. Arthur came over to her chair, kneeled in front of her and tried to take her hand, tried to run a soothing thumb over her knuckles.

Eames knew Arthur was sorry for being so rough with her—but she didn't understand. Arthur was only doing this for her safety in the future. Teaching her to defend herself—especially after that asshole in her apartment attacked her, was a high priority on Arthur's list. He didn't want to have to worry about her in any given situation.

She slapped him before he touched her hand, hard and fast, the sound echoing in Arthur's apartment. With a sob, she took off, going to the bathroom. He watched Arthur stand, fix his vest and pack up the equipment, running a tired hand through his hair.

"She needs to know that I'm only doing this because—"

Eames swallowed. "You were too hard on her."

Arthur looked at him, eyes blazing. "You think anyone who attacks her, uses her against us or tries to get information out of her is going to be _easy_ on her?"

"You scared her." He admitted softly.

He was right. Authur was right, it was important to get Ariadne to understand that when she was in this business that she could be held accountable for the job they performed. There were a lot of powerful people always after them, always willing to do anything to get information or get back at the trio.

Arthur just shook his head. "I did what I had too."

Eames ran a hand over his chin, the stubble prickling the skin on his palm. "You went too far."

He stood from the couch and went to go see how Ariadne was. He gently knocked on the door. She didn't try to hide the fact that she was sobbing. He opened the door to see her crouched in a corner, her knees up to her chest, her head down on her knees. He swallowed and went to sit next to her, gently touching her hair and stroking softly when she didn't push him away.

When she turned into him, he didn't hesitate pulling her body even further into his, stroking her back until she stopped crying.

She didn't understand. To have Arthur do this for her, to worry about her so much that he'd be so rough and practical, to train her to the point where she hated him—it was all about how much he cared about her. And he obviously cared about her a lot.

While he held the sobbing girl, he tried not be jealous over the fact that Arthur cared for her too much.

**And Si6x**

Ariadne stayed in bed for days.

Arthur had been worried for days; and that was an understatement.

Eames had been annoyed for days. Arthur had gone past pacing and looking at her desk and calling her apartment and looking at Eames nervously. Yeah, nervously. Arthur was meticulous; painstakingly so. So when he started asking Eames for advice on what he should do about Ariadne, he knew it was time to drop by her apartment and make sure she wasn't dead.

She was probably still pouting from when he stabbed her. Yeah, he was aware how insensitive he was being about this. Ariadne was hurt. Not physically but emotionally. He understood betrayal, it'd happened to him enough times. And Ariadne looked up to Arthur, perhaps even had a bit of a crush on him—trusted him indefinitely. For him to do that to her, regardless of his good intentions, still took a toll on his and her relationship.

Shouldn't have Eames been more happy about this? No more goddamn giggling in the corner at her desk like a bunch of boarding school girls?

God his emotions were fucked and all over the place. He cared about Ariadne, closest thing to a sister that he ever had. But jealousy really screwed up his feelings. He went from caring about her to wishing she would stay in her goddamn apartment for the rest of her life and never come out in ten seconds flat.

He rolled his eyes at himself as he drove over to her place, ignoring Arthur's rambling in the passenger seat. Yeah, he was rambling. He couldn't take much more of this. Arthur and him were turning in goddamn girls.

"Yeah," Eames gritted his teeth as he parked his car. "You fucked this one up Arthur; she may never speak to you again. Get over it, you made your choice."

He got out of the car and slammed the door, waiting for Arthur to get out and join him.

"But she has to understand I was doing this—"

Eames sighed as he rung Ariadne's doorbell as they stood in front of her door. "To protect her, blah, blah…blah." He muttered, ignoring his glare burning into his neck.

"I don't understand why you're being so flippant about this." Arthur huffed; Eames refused to believe he thought he looked adorable doing it. "If we lose her we'll never find another architect in enough time for this job—or at least not one as good as her."

"Should have thought about that before you stabbed her." Eames snapped and looked at him as he heard the locks turn in her door. He swallowed, refusing yet again, to feel guilty when Arthur looked down.

Ariadne slowly opened the door, sniffling as she did so. She glared at Arthur and contemplated throwing the snotty tissue she held in her hand at his face.

"What do you want?"

Eames raised his eyebrows at her clogged and raspy voice. He pushed the door open a bit, getting a better look at her. Her nose was red and running just a little. Her hair was messed up in every which way, knots looking like an inviting home for birds to start living in. The bags under her eyes were dark and angry, like she'd been hit against her porcelain skin.

"Well don't you look like a charmer?" Eames asked, as she turned around, flipping him off while heading back to her bedroom.

"Fuck you, Eames." She muttered.

Eames shook his head in sheer annoyance and shock. All this time. She was in bed with a bleeding _cold_. She wasn't curled up in a dark and scary place, contemplating death because she was so goddamn sad over Arthur's betrayal. All this _worrying_ Arthur shit for nothing!

"Unbelievable," he muttered, Arthur walking past him into the apartment. He unwillingly followed him inside and closed the door. He bit his lip and contemplated leaving until he saw Arthur mosey around in the fucking kitchen, getting pots down and containers of soup out of the cupboards.

"You know she didn't call you back on purpose, right?" Eames asked Arthur, who was ignoring him as he read the soup directions. He sighed, his patience running thin. "She wanted you to worry about her to the point where you were…well _this_! Running over here like a whipped boyfriend. It's degrading."

"I did not!"

Eames turned to see Ariadne with a sweater on, which was better than her revealing shorts and camisole he saw her in when she opened the door. She had managed to run a brush through her locks as well—too bad for the birds who wanted to take up rent.

Arthur turned to look at her. "Do you want chicken noodle or tomato?" He asked so quietly that Eames was surprised Ariadne could even hear him with her clogged up ears. Did he even hear what he just said?

"Tomato." She answered back, just as soft. She picked up a box of tissues, Eames assumed that's what she actually came in for, and headed back to her groundhog hole of a room.

Eames scoffed. "Did I get so incredibly drunk last night that I'm still passed out and dreaming of a hell dimension? Arthur, put the fucking soup down and help me get her the hell ready to go to work. We have too much to do for you to play housekeeping all day."

Arthur sighed and shook his head, pouring the soup into the pot. Eames swore and tugged Arthur by his vest, pushing him back against the counter. He shook him once and gave him a long stare.

Arthur just stared on back, methodical and—something else staring back at Eames. Something deep seeded and…predatory.

Before he even knew or comprehended what the fuck he was doing, his lips crashed onto Arthurs. Wet, sloppy, _owning_ and hungry against Arthur's lips. And what Eames didn't expect was Arthur's reciprocation, greedily pulling him closer to him as Eames gripped the point man's vest.

It was over as quick as it had happened; Eames pulled his head back and licked his lower lip, tasting Arthur all over his mouth. The side of Arthur's mouth tipped in a sly smile as Eames backed up, his fingers tensing against Arthur's perfectly pressed shirt.

His lips were shiny and red from the recent contact of the forger's attacking lips, his hair was messed up on one side from Eames' shaking hand running through his gelled locks. Eames couldn't even remember doing that…and Arthur didn't even looked like he gave a damn, and this was a man who prided on looking neat and proper.

Arthur, the _prick_, pushed Eames back with his hips. Eames bit his lower lip and refused to hiss at the sudden contact. Then Arthur had the nerve to smirk.

"If I'd known that jealously turns you on," Yeah, Eames wasn't even trying to hide the hard on tenting his very expensive slacks. "I would have flirted with Ariadne a lot sooner."

His voice turned to a whisper at the end, his lower lip running over Eames' upper one. He then pulled back and stirred the soup on the stove top.

Eames said goodbye to nights filled with Jack Daniels, he found a new way to handle his jealousy.


End file.
